


For Good In Human Matters

by Ling_Xiaojie



Category: A Christmas Carol - Fandom
Genre: A Christmas Carol, Character Study, Kindness, Lyrics are from “Shepherd’s Carol” by Robert Shaw, Other, Reflection, i’m a bit late with this one, lotta references to the original work, might redo this, past speaks in elizabethan language here because they’re a representation of the past and all that, past uses “they” pronouns here because even Dickens didn’t know what their gender is, sequelish thing, some religious themes, yes I ship Past and Marley and I’m only slightly ashamed of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 03:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17357861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ling_Xiaojie/pseuds/Ling_Xiaojie
Summary: After Ebenezer Scrooge’s redemption, what became of his fettered partner, old Jacob Marley, forever damned to wander the earth for his sins? Is there any chance of his exoneration in the eyes of the three mighty spirits upon whose strange powers he depended for the salvation of his old friend? A short story about the aftermath of A Christmas Carol from Marley’s point of view, mostly focusing on his relationship with the Ghost of Christmas Past.





	For Good In Human Matters

_“Methinks_   _I_ _see_ _an_ _heav’nly_ _host_  
_Of_ _angels_ _on_ _the_ _wing_  
_Methinks_ _I_ _hear_ _their_ _cheerful_ _notes,_  
_So_ _merrily_ _they_ _sing!”_

He would be their herald. God had smiled upon the old wretch and granted him a generous concession. The soul of Jacob Marley knew joy for the first time. Upon his appointment by the Three, he lowered his head and wept. Wept more intensely and abjectly than ever a wandering soul ever had, and then he raised his head and began to sing. He lifted his voice high as if joining with a choir of angels, caring not that his voice was raspy and hollow and sounded rather hideous, especially where it had been choked so long with tears and laments. He sang, lauding the mercy of God and praying for his fellows in chains that their suffering might end swiftly on the Judgement Day. To the other wandering souls, it must have seemed as though he’d gone insane. But it mattered not.

 _“Exalt, ye oxen! Low for joy,_  
_Ye tenants of the stall;_  
_Pay your obeisance; on your knees_  
_Unanimously fall!”_

In his deep heart of hearts, humbled though he’d been over the years, the ghost fancied himself an angel of redemption and considered himself greatly blessed. Just to be able to interact with the world of the living once more was a great gift to him, and to be the messenger of the three who had redeemed his only true earthly friend... He had given up his hopes of Heaven a long time ago. He’d given up his hopes of having his chains removed likewise. This was more than he could ever have wished for. Certainly more than he deserved.

When exactly it happened, or who sought whom out first, he did not know, but he somehow latched onto that weird little flame sprite, the Ghost of Christmas Past, in particular. It must have been inevitable. Marley desperately sought the comfort and love he did not deserve, and Past seemed to have a strange compulsion to touch, to make physical contact. It was his theory that Past became aware of a mortal’s past Christmases through his or her memories whenever the Ghost laid their hand upon that mortal’s heart, for they had done so to him when the two first met. With just a touch, Past knew not only Marley’s name, but the manner by which he died and how long ago, though Marley himself had said nothing. Somehow, during his service to the Three, he had become inexorably drawn to that touch, to that feminine yet powerful hand that would grasp at his coat when ordering him to linger, that would pityingly stroke his cheek when the remorse was too much for him to bear, that would lay upon the hearts of mortals and other wandering souls in the Spirit’s continuous search for knowledge of man’s condition.

Laden though his arms were with heavy steel, he would hold the Spirit close to him. He felt remnants of the great giant’s elder brothers that accumulated within Past year by year, and yet...there was still something different. Bright, pure. Pure where the others were not. But he dared not look into the face of his temporal master. He was certain that were he to open his eyes and look, surrounded as he was by the flickering flames and enveloped by Past’s ever-changing body, a hand on his shoulder one minute and on his thigh the next, it would be enough to drive him mad. And so he kept his eyes averted from their gaze. Their voice, their touch, and above all, the things they made him feel, that was enough for him.

 _“Let all your fears be banish’d hence;_  
_Glad tidings I proclaim!_  
_There is a Saviour born today_  
_And Jesus is his name.”_

At first, it was both hurtful and frightening. Whenever Past connected with him, the memories of his earthly life over which he lamented became all at once more vivid and more powerful. In his mind’s eye, Marley saw himself, felt himself, for what he truly had been. The recollection repulsed him so that it threatened to shake a mighty wail from his very core and rattle his chains like rippling tides. From his boyhood right to his death, it all flooded back, crashing over him. A Bible verse here, a protesting debtor there. A tickle in his throat. The steel ledgers and purses pressed into him. He wanted so painfully to wrench that extinguisher cap from Past’s hand and force it upon their gleaming head, erase their light from his mind. He hated that life, hated it, hated it, _hated_ it.

 _“The master of the inn refus’d_  
_A more commodious place;_  
_Ungenerous soul of savage mould,_  
_And destitute of Grace.”_

And yet he was powerless. He could offer no excuse; for Past could see everything, every memory upon his consciousness. Still he was taken up in the ghostly arms, still comfort was whispered into his ears, still the smooth lips brushed against his gaunt cheeks. Still the Spirit refused to lay a finger on his chain or acknowledge that it was there while they tended to their messenger. Their deft hands bypassed the steel padlock over Marley’s heart and gently played about upon his tightened chest and sore back. This was forgiveness, he realized. Not only that, but healing. Past was not delving into his memories to wound or reproach him, but to bring him to recovery, just as they had done with Scrooge. Yet here...there was something more strange and intimate. After all, Past had visited Scrooge because he’d still had the chance to be redeemed, but for Marley, it was far too late. What would Past or their two colleagues have to gain from healing a dead man’s wounds? Not wanting to seem ungrateful, he feared to ask the Spirit.

“What is it?” The hand laid tenderly upon his shoulder.  
Eyes downcast, foggy. Shame. “Nothing, my lord.”  
“’Tis something, I think.” An upward flick at each corner of the mouth.  
He swallowed, thinking of the right words. “Why am I worth your attention?”  
The flame crackled. The hand stroked his shoulder as though worried.  
He trembled. “Pity?”  
The summer flowers’ petals swayed and the belt around the Spirit’s waist glittered in the light as they moved. “Nay.”  
Having no reason to doubt his master’s words, Marley felt relieved. “What, then?”  
“For my reclamation of thee.”  
That urge again to reach for the extinguisher—no. He was a better man than that. “Forgive me being inquisitive, my lord. I do not understand.”  
“Hast thou not looked upon thy past with such remorse and regret o’er th’ years, Jacob?”  
His lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. “Of course I have. It is my nature as a prisoner. All the things I might have been, might have done...is it so unreasonable that I should despair for it?”  
A warm palm against his cheek in pacification. “’Tis reasonable, dear soul, ’tis reasonable. Yet know thou that I am here to heal.”  
“Yes, master, I assumed as much. But what in heaven’s name for? What is your compensation? What do you _get?_ ”  
Past’s flame shuddered as if someone had sighed in its direction. “To thy knowledge, dearest, wherefore did we appoint thee our herald?”  
Not imagining a covetous old sinner such as himself would ever be truly valuable to the Three, the word “pity” again crossed his mind. But aloud he said: “I don’t know.”  
Two elegant, slender hands clasped about his knobbled, bony one. “’Tis for devotion. We Spirits liveth not in the good will of Christmas a mere twelve sunrises and sunsets, but for all three hundred three score and five in the earthly year. ’Tis our devotion to our Maker, to the Redeemer, to mankind, and to good will which bestows unto us our might. And ’twas thy devotion to thy mortal friend Ebenezer and to his redemption which did win us—” the Ghost paused to correct themself “—win _me_.” They moved in front of him, turned to face him, lifted a hand to his head and held his chin firmly but gently between their thumb and forefinger. “That is what I _get_ , Jacob Marley.”

His throat tightened. His trembling caused his chain to rattle. All his inner turmoil warned him not to— And he looked. He looked upon the Spirit’s face and was met with...he could only describe it as true beauty. Pure light, pure radiance, pure innocence, and yet pure wisdom. Somehow, he could discern bits of the giant, bits of Ebenezer Scrooge, and bits of himself the more he gazed into his master’s eyes. Their eyes contained a hundred thousand memories and a hundred thousand feelings with each one. The freckled face of a wiry youth who teased him in the schoolyard. The merry face of a wavy-haired woman who winked at him from across the tavern. The tired yet unrelenting, tearstained face of a beggar whom he’d ignored in life, tried to share his wealth with in death to no avail. A new regret formed behind the padlock without a key—if only he’d looked sooner. The links of his chain clinked against one another as Marley took the Ghost of Christmas Past in his arms. Their flames happily engulfed him in return.

As the Spirit and their messenger embraced, two other supernatural presences materialized a little ways behind their colleague. The giant of 1843, and that hooded, faceless mass in the shape of a man.  
“Come, Fellow Spirit, herald,” Christmas Present boomed, a great smile upon his face. The pronounced wrinkles and grooves in his visage warned them of the passing days approaching Twelfth Night. “We must be on our way.”  
Christmas Past turned and nodded. Marley greeted his two masters with a respectful bow. Forming a circle, the four ghosts joined their hands and lowered their heads in prayer.

 _“To God the Father, Christ the Son,_  
_And Holy Ghost ador’d;_  
_The First and Last, the Last and First,  
Eternal praise afford!”_

And the Three resumed their journey, their journey of peace and good will, with Marley at their side, eager to interfere for good in human matters.


End file.
